My Florida
By Melody Murphy [melody@ocalasgoodlife.com]
The Ballad Of Shadowsox, Second Verse
T
o recap... Last time, we learned the first verse of “The Ballad of Shadowsox,” in which a stray South Georgia tomcat became the cat of my parents and acquired his name a year ago. In becoming a kept cat, Shadowsox became the henchman of Beaujangles, Destroyer of Worlds, the evil schnoodle who lives in the house. The cat also became the self-appointed protector of Jake and Roxie, the elderly golden retrievers who lived in the yard and whose primary occupation was sleeping all day and barking all night. Shadowsox was to be an outdoor animal as well. He was happily ensconced in life with the yard dogs when tragedy struck—Roxie got sick and died in February. Heartbroken, brother Jake died exactly one month later. It was terribly sad. Shadowsox had been a devoted companion, following his canine friends out to the woods to sit with them and provide comfort in their last days. Then they were gone. For six weeks this spring, Shadowsox roamed the land without canine accompaniment, except when Beau came outdoors to be walked. The house was in the middle of ten acres, surrounded by pine woods and all kinds of creatures. Living alone in the wilderness is a lawless life which leaves one unprotected. One April evening, Shadowsox materialized with two deep gashes on his backside. The vet said he had been bitten by something, or that possibly the marks were from the talons of an owl. His behind was shaved, he was given a shot to prevent infection, and he went home with medication for his battle wounds. That was the day his destiny changed. “He can’t live outside with wild animals,” my mother said, dismissing years of staunch opposition to indoor felines. And just like that, Shadowsox became an inside cat.
One April evening, Shadowsox materialized with two deep gashes on his backside.
14
OCALA’S GOOD LIFE retirement redefined
Texts apprised me of his transition to house animal. I keep losing Sox. He likes to hide. He is wary of Beau. Not afraid exactly, but careful. He must know who the boss really is. I do tell Beau not to harass Sox. Shadowsox became bolder. Sox got up on the bed two times this morning early and was told to get down. I surely hope he can learn his cans and can’ts. These things I will not accept. There must be a way to train cats. And then, Shadowsox committed the ultimate outrage. Sox received a severe reprimand this morning for getting up on my kitchen counter. Beau even came to see what the problem was. I feared this greatest of all transgressions might condemn Shadowsox to return to his outdoor life. Fortunately, it did not. This spring, my mother and stepfather decided to move back to Florida, which surely is a contractual obligation for those over age 65. They bought a house and in May came down for the closing. Beau is highly portable, being fond of rides in the truck. A freshly traumatized cat who is brand-new to both indoor life and cat carriers and who needs regular medicating, not so much. So they asked if I would keep Shadowsox for a few days. I said certainly. I have taken care of many cats over the years. I have never had a problem. But it is 2020, and I should have known. Our story will pause here until next time, but I will tell you this: Never put a cat on a leash. Especially at a full moon. With this chestnut of wisdom, I’ll see you next year for the third verse of “The Ballad of Shadowsox,” in which we learn how cats go AWOL on moonlit nights in strange places and, being in league with dark forces, are drawn to graveyards and insurrection. Happy holidays and here’s hoping for a much happier new year for us all.
